Patient Paper
by Cinderblock
Summary: Yet another postep for In The Wee Small Hours. Eames, Goren & the aftermath of The Letter. Friendship, maybe more. Angst. Probably not very in character.


Category: Yet another post-ep for "In the Small Wee Hours". Angst, fluff.  
Pairing: Eames/Goren (friendship, hints at more)  
Rating: G  
Disclaimer: Not mine. 

**Patient Paper**

It wasn't a bullet that almost ended their partnership but a five year old letter.

A request for a new partner, written at a moment in time when she was sure she could never work with him, because even after weeks of working together they still weren't working together. More side by side with Deakins as their mediator, their point of contact. Of course she had heard stories about Detective Robert Goren before she transferred from Vice to Major Case, and of course she had assumed that they were exaggerations.

Only they weren't.

The first couple of weeks she'd felt like a walking notepad. Somehow she always ended up conducting the interviews while he was off somewhere, sticking his nose and gloved fingers into God knows what goo. She didn't mind that - what she did mind was that he wasn't talking to her. Sometimes she wondered if she even made as much as a blink on his radar when they were out in the field. When he wasn't muttering to himself, he was brooding silently over bits and pieces he had picked up somewhere and then, suddenly, he would burst out some theory and expected her to accept it immediately as the gospel truth. Sometimes she had come to the same conclusion, but time and again she felt as if she had overlooked something crucial. She didn't like it that he made her feel inadequate without giving her the chance to make it right, because while she was sure he had stored the knowledge to back up his findings somewhere in that brain of his, he was never forthcoming with information and she ended up being left out.

It was when Deakins congratulated both of them on solving their fifth case and when she couldn't honestly remember what she had contributed except for her signature at the last page of the report that she realised this really wasn't working. She hadn't left Vice only to become an ornament, a mere technicality, because due to regulations the great Bobby Goren wasn't supposed to work alone. So, after wrapping up the case, Alex Eames sat down at her computer, and her eyes shifted from the white screen in front of her to the empty chair on the opposite side of the desk.

And then she started writing.

* * *

Her words had cut deep and nothing she'd said afterwards could change that.

She had almost choked on her testimony on the stand, barely holding back the tears when their eyes met across the room. Her request for a new partner resounded pretty much all the bad things she had heard about him, opinions he must have been aware of back then.

She had expected to feel relieved when she hit the print button, signed the request and put it in Deakins' in-box, but she hadn't. She wasn't sure what it was she felt, but when Goren came back to their desks and put a cup of coffee on her side, she couldn't meet his eyes. He started on his share of paperwork, and when she didn't touch the cup he glanced up, tilted his head and asked, "No milk, one sugar, right?"

Her fingers stopped fumbling, knotted tightly together and it took her a moment to untangle and steady them to reach out with both hands for the most hideous Santa Claus mug she'd ever seen. But the coffee was warm and as she breathed in she knew she couldn't resist this scent, no matter how many pieces of sugar he had put in.

"Yeah. Thanks."

She raised it to her lips and took a sip, her eyes closing just for a moment, and when she opened them again she found herself looking right at him over the rim of the cup. And just like that he smiled at her, as if he had accomplished something important, and went on scribbling down his notes and filling out forms.

Deakins never got back on her that day in regards to the request, so when she headed home at the end of the day she just assumed it was pending and that he would give her notice when it was through.

The night was cut short by a very early morning phone call though, and so she found herself back at yet another crime scene only a handful of restless hours after she'd gotten home. Knowing the deal and determined to just going through the motions, she started making the interviews while Goren picked at the dead body and told the CSU people how to do their job. She actually startled when he suddenly started talking out loud and even more so when he turned to her from his crouching position, looking expectantly up at her and asking for her opinion. Trying to cover up her shock, she told him what she had gleaned from the interviews and during their conversation over a dead body they found out that even though they each had a different approach and had looked at different pieces of the puzzle, their theories on the victim and circumstances of the murder were so similar that they quickly managed to fuse them into one that was even more solid. Before she knew it they had agreed on where their investigation should lead them next - and for the first time since she'd been partnered up with him she had the feeling they were on the right track.

* * *

Their conversation in the hallway had been short and again too much remained left unsaid.

Did he try to comfort her, to put her at ease? She wasn't sure, but if he had he didn't succeed. No matter what he said, she couldn't help but worry about how deep this breach of trust had harmed their partnership, a partnership it had taken them several years to built. It had felt like a betrayal even back in the days that followed the dropping off of her request, especially given Goren's changed behaviour.

She never found out what happened, and at first she had even suspected that Deakins had told him about the letter and her pending reassignment, but even though she had Goren only known for a short time, she knew he would have reacted differently towards her if he had known. She wasn't the one with the psychological background, but she was sure that he would have drawn back from her and isolated himself even further, not letting her in on his theories and thoughts, asking for her input.

It was only during that case they started to turn into partners.

Slowly but surely they managed to fine-tune their communication until a glance, a raised eyebrow or a nod was all it took to synchronise their work. It took them months, but this case was a start and after a week she wrote another letter to Deakins, withdrawing her request. Without ever addressing it in words, she had somehow reached a kind of silent agreement with her boss; she felt as if she had become part of a conspiracy. Except for a brief nod when she left his office the following day after a briefing, they never talked about it. She hadn't even known if he had made her request official until she had been faced with it again in the courtroom. Of course the second letter hadn't made it into evidence, but she suspected that it wouldn't have done any good anyway - just like her attempts to make her partner understand, to save what was left after the lawyer was finished with her.

They had come so far.

She didn't want to lose that. Didn't want to lose him. But remembering that day in the courtroom, seeing him sitting there, and later, in the hallway, watching him walk away, she wondered if it might already be too late.

* * *

She couldn't forget his eyes, the expression when their gazes had locked, and when she had caught him watching her with the same expression weeks later, she had to look away.

At first she thought, hoped that she was imagining things, but as the weeks went on, it became more and more palpable. Something had changed. He was quieter around her; more cautious, as if he was waiting for something - maybe for the other shoe to drop. And if she was honest, she was waiting, too. They were working together, solving cases, and yet, between them, nothing was resolved. One moment in time, preserved in black on white, the long way they'd come since then overshadowed, forgotten.

That couldn't be it, could it? And yet, what could she do? Pretend that nothing had happened was obviously not working. Her hesitant invitations to a beer or two after work had been politely but constantly turned down. She was at the end of her rope, and every time they finished a case she was half-expecting to find his desk empty the next day - or her things in a box on top of hers.

Her place, the one she'd filled out with pride, seemed suddenly no longer safe. Neither as his partner, nor as his friend.

Sometimes, when she couldn't sleep at night, she wondered what would happen if both of them were reassigned to different partners. Out of sight, out of mind? Would they keep in touch or run awkwardly into each other years later on some police function they both hadn't been able to avoid? The thought alone made her shudder and wrap the covers even tighter around herself in a vain attempt to keep the encroaching cold at bay.

But that restless night after she had caught him watching her, she sat up and looked at the bedside table. She pulled at the drawer and a possibility to show him, to make him understand formed in her mind. Reaching inside, she took out several books and opened them one after the other until she found the one she was looking for. She touched the pages, knowing that it would have to be all or nothing, no omissions, no holding back. A desperate attempt to fight fire with fire, with no idea what the outcome would be - complete devastation or ...

She allowed herself a sigh.

Swallowing her pride and fear, she dressed quickly before she could change her mind and drove over to his place.

* * *

He had to have seen her arrive, because after the doorman had let her in and she had stepped out of the elevator she found him already standing in the open doorway.

His face was a mask of indifference, and at that moment she hated him a little bit for being able to control his emotions while she was about to give everything up she had. But when she approached him, she could see the rigidness in his posture, as he was trying to lean casually against the frame, could feel the tension that surrounded him.

Whatever he had expected her to do when he saw her arrive, she suspected that it wasn't her pressing a slightly trembling book into his hand and then turning around, walking away and stepping into the waiting elevator.

The last look she got of him before the doors closed was one of utter confusion and a clear onset of panic.

When she arrived at her car and tried to fit the key into the lock, she didn't need to look at her reflection in the window to know that her expression mirrored his perfectly. At first she tried to picture him on her way home, how he had opened it and discovered her handwriting inside, all her thoughts, fears, hopes and dreams of her first two years after her transfer to Major Case.

This way madness and accidents lie, she thought, gripped the steering wheel harder and forced herself to concentrate on getting home in once piece.

Half an hour later, her doorbell rang.

* * *

Alexdidn't look at him when she opened the door and walked back into her living-room. The door closed with a click, and she heard his steps in the short hallway as he followed her inside. She didn't know what to say, so she listened, but all she could hear was her own racing heartbeat and him struggling for breath - too impatient to wait for the elevator, he had probably taken the stairs to her apartment, climbing three or four at a time to get to her. She knew he bought her diary with him, had seen it in his hand when she had let him inside and she wondered how far he had gotten with his reading before deciding to come here.

She hoped he wasn't appalled by what he had found on the pages filled with her handwriting. She had been keeping a diary pretty much throughout her life. Writing helped her to order her thoughts, and even though she had her siblings and parents, there were things she felt more comfortable writing down than sharing with them. The volume Bobby was holding in his hand had started as a place to vent her frustration about her new job and him, but had changed in tone and content just as radically as their relationship had. It wasn't much, but it was all the evidence she had to offer him that she meant every single word she said when she tried to explain the letter, and ... more. It was especially this 'more' part that made her feel so exposed, but as she saw it, giving him this written testimony was her only chance at regaining his trust.

"Did you read it?" she finally asked, her voice sounding rough as she forced the air past the lump in her throat.

"I, uhm ... I read parts of it," she heard him say behind her, his voice much closer than she'd thought it would be. Forcing herself to calm down, she turned around and finally met his gaze. She hadn't even known she'd been holding her breath until she let it go when she looked into his eyes and saw that the awful guarded expression was no longer there. She could see acceptance and gratitude and felt herself almost tremble with relieve. He looked much calmer than she felt, but his aura of new-found reassurance soothed her nerves, as did his voice when he spoke again.

"I know what it must have cost you to offer me this," he continued. "To give me such an insight in your self is ..." She couldn't do anything against it as she felt her cheeks redden and burn, and yet she was sure that if this would really save them, it was worth her embarrassment. But he sensed her discomfort and stopped, then added, "I never realised how hard those first weeks and months were for you. I mean I should have, but ..." he struggled to find the words as he kept turning the book in his hands and she said, "I thought it was because you were used to work alone most of the time -" - "I did it on purpose," he said, the words tumbling out before she could finish her sentence.

She didn't say anything at first, but all the blood that had previously made her cheeks glow had disappeared and left ghostly white skin behind. Arms protectively crossed in front of her, she took a deep breath and asked him calmly, "Why?"

"The date on the letter, your request for transfer - it was at the end of our fifth case." She blinked. He was right. But ... "I know why I remember it, but why do you? Was there something special about the case that I didn't catch? Something that made you change your mind about me?"

He swallowed, and then said, "Four."

"Excuse me?"

"Four. That's how many cases the detective that stuck around longest had stayed. Before you came, it was two, mostly three and just once four cases of working together." He shrugged.

"So that cup of coffee and you starting to treat me like your partner was my reward for breaking some kind of record?" she asked in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me, right?"

"You stayed," he said softly, as if it was explanation enough. And maybe it was, she thought as she looked at him, standing there in the middle of her living-room with her diary still in his hand. Maybe that was all it took for him to let her in on his thoughts about the cases, to make an effort and start trusting her.

Closing her eyes, she uncrossed her arms and rubbed her forehead. "Talk about bad timing," she said as she realised that the very moment she gave up on them was when he decided to give them a chance. He chuckled, but when she looked up again, his expression was thoughtful. "Maybe not so bad," he mused. She waited, and he tilted his head and added, "Just think about it - the timing couldn't have been better. Had I waited any longer, you would have been gone before I had come to my senses. I shouldn't have judged you without trying to get to know you. I should have seen when Deakins introduced us that you were different."

Determined not to get side-tracked by this admission, she insisted, "But if I had waited only one more day, I probably wouldn't have written the letter at all. After reading the diary you know what it meant to me that I didn't have to fight you anymore."

He suddenly looked stricken and replied, "I am really sorry for behaving the way I did. I didn't want to drive you away, at least I don't think I did, it's just that ..." She reached out and lay her hand on his arm. "I get it, Bobby." And she did. "Why make an effort if the other person isn't going to stick around anyway, right?" she said, her tone softening the contents of her words. It wasn't meant as an accusation, just as an assessment of his state of mind at that time. He got her drift and nodded. "Maybe we're both acquired tastes," she said with a smile and he covered her hand on his arm with his palm.

"I meant what I said after court. I am lucky that you decided to stay. With me." She didn't know if it was the warmth of his skin on hers or his words, but she felt herself drawn to him and for the first time she considered to give in. Even though she hadn't painted any hearts with their initials in her diary, nor had she filled it with poems or texts of sappy love songs, she knew it was still in there, written between the lines. He must have noticed it, and yet he was there, standing right in front of her.

It gave her hope. Neither of them was going anywhere without the other; wherever their way would lead them.


End file.
